Bitter is Love
by Catori Abbott
Summary: AU in a dystopian, war-riddled America. Men ages 12 and up are being daily drafted for the war, deemed World War Six. Cole is taken from his fiancee Katrina to fight for a cause he doesn't believe in. The couple has to find out how to survive on their own, all while hoping to meet again. Cole is really ooc because I didn't want it to be fanfic tbh. Placeholder name! wOO.
1. Prologue

Years from now, in our world, there's a war.  
It's a world war, the worst by far. World War Six, and probably the last one the world will live to see. Men -boys- from all around the world are drafted daily to fight. There's no escape. No way to get out of fighting. They don't care if you're sick, disabled, married... They take boys as young as twelve, and girls who are at least sixteen when they volunteer. Jobs are plentiful. There are too many jobs and not enough people working. Women live in the states, care for the children, work as construction workers or chefs or shopkeepers. There is no art, no music. There's no time for that.  
Except, some families, some people, find a way to be happy amidst the chaos and destruction.  
Seldom does it last.


	2. Chapter 1

There was loud knocking on the door. Katrina's heart skipped a beat. Loud knocking was never a good sign. Cole looked at her from his seat on the couch. "I'll get it." He stood up, and the tension seemed to make it hard to move. Slowly, he walked to the door, peered out the peephole, and opened it with a quiet sigh.  
"Cole St. Clair?" The official asked, holding a tablet and staring at him with cold, black eyes.  
"Yes..." He hoped, severely hoped, that they were collecting taxes... Not sending him away from his fiancee. Not now.  
"You've been drafted for the war. The truck will collect you tomorrow at five in the morning. Be ready or you will leave without your belongings."  
His eyes drifted down to his feet, but he managed a small nod. The officer checked his name off the tablet, and turned away, marching to the military truck that would drive him to the next house.  
Cole walked back to the living room, letting the door close softly. Katrina rose, grey eyes wide. He swallowed, nodding without word.  
Her soft gasp, filled with pain and the threat of tears broke the silence. She ran to him, throwing arms around his neck and hugging him fiercely. "They can't do this... They can't..." She sobbed into his shirt as he held her tightly.  
"They can... They will." He muttered.  
They stayed like that for what felt like hours, when in reality it was no more than a minute.  
"When?" She asked, voice hallow.  
"Tomorrow. Five." He said, catching her eyes and keeping her gaze.  
She pressed her lips together to keep them from quivering, holding her arms to her chest to hide the heavy, short breaths she took to keep from crying again. Katrina's eyes were red and puffy, and she rubbed her cheeks impatiently.  
"We should get you packed."  
The sounds of bombs dropping filled the air; nothing more than a normal Sunday afternoon.

The next day, they woke at four. Katrina prepared breakfast, but neither of them ate. The nausea of anxiety had affected them both. The couple sat across from each other, hands held tightly as they kept their eyes on their untouched plates.  
The radio played in the background as they waited.  
"Two hundred more drafted. Children as young eleven this time," they played an audio clip of a mother crying as her son was taken from her. "Strong, healthy women have now begun to be taken. Let that be a note to you girls; if you happen to be over 150 pounds, they will consider you as strong as a man. Refrain from the sweets." The radio announcer laughed. He was one of the few that was safe, a government official in terms. He was supposed to brighten the spirits of the war-torn citizens of America. After nine years in this battle, there were no high spirits anywhere.  
Katrina, a twenty year old girl weighing hardly a hundred pounds would be safe from the draft. She was considered 'unhealthy' by the government's standards, with panic attacks and bipolar disorder. She would be a liability.  
Cole, on the other hand, happened to suffer only from depression, and they considered that to be 'a falsified disorder that exists only when one wants it to'. Most people were depressed. It was the time that caused it, the era.  
Too quickly, the door was knocked on much like yesterday. Three hard pounds on the door, making the plates on their table shake. Cole took a deep breath and walked to the door. Quickly, dancing on her tiptoes, Katrina followed him. Not in secret, just in a nervous flitter she happened to take to.  
He opened the door with Katrina staring out from behind him. "Cole St. Clair?" He nodded at the statement. "Bags packed?" Once again, he nodded. "Wife?" The official nodded to Katrina who didn't smile. "Fiancee." Cole replied dryly. The official whistled patronizingly. "Lets hope you get back to marry her, eh? Pretty girl." He winked and Katrina narrowed her eyes threateningly. With a loud laugh, the official turned away. "Onto the truck, St. Clair."  
He turned, picking up his tattered bag. Katrina rose on her tiptoes, planting a light kiss on his lips. Although it felt to him much like a goodbye, she tried to make it more of a hopeful 'see you soon'. It was a bitter moment, lacking any sweetness. Green eyes catching grey ones, he turned away and walked to the truck, climbing aboard and being hidden from sight. In seconds, the truck drove away.  
"I LOVE YOU!" She screamed, urgent and near tears. She saw him rise from the back, mouth open but voice carried away by the wind. Would she hear his voice again; the gravely, deep voice that turned soft when he whisper words of comfort into her ear after the death of her sister, her only family?  
She had only hope to comfort her as she closed the door and slid down against it, crying silent tears.


	3. Chapter 2

"Here, you will learn what soldiers must learn." The drill Sargent, who they were supposed to call "Sir" and nothing else yelled. His voice cracked in a way that could have been comical, if laughing didn't mean punishment by cleaning the weaponry until late at night.  
"You look like a bunch of pansy boys. Probably had to leave your mommy. Who lived with their mom before?" He yelled. Several boys, especially the younger one, sheepishly said, "I, Sir."  
He walked, shoes kicking up dust, to a boy who had forgotten the 'sir'. "And who do you think you are to address me so formally, boy?" He snapped, bending down to his height patronizingly. "No one important... Sir." He quickly added, not looking up.  
Cole did his best to look ahead and appear uninterested like the other's. "Now," 'Sir' said, straightening up and continuing his pace. "you will start out with the obstacle course. I want you all changed into uniforms and out at the field in no more than ten minutes." He blew the whistle and everyone quickly made their way back to the cabins.  
"Where's my suitcase?" Someone yelled, throwing down the cover of the chest that sat at the end of each bed. It had a lock on it. "Finders keepers, Sterling." A foxfaced boy of nineteen chided, pulling a white t-shirt over his torso. "Don't be such an ass, Lewis." Cole snapped over his shoulder, dropping his black shirt into the chest and pulling on the white one. "Excuse you, St. Clair? This isn't your business."  
He stepped forward, easily a foot taller than the kid. "I can make it my problem."  
Lewis sneered, turning away and grabbing a backpack, throwing it to Sterling. Sterling nodded to Cole, giving him a half smile. Cole didn't reply as he clicked the lock into place and set off, out of the cabin.  
"Hey, thanks for sticking up for me." Sterling said as he jogged up to Cole's side. He was still struggling with one of his sleeves, but Cole didn't offer help. Sterling was about fifteen years old with a mop of brown hair and a wash of freckles against his pale face. He had a boyish face... he didn't seem cut-out to be a soldier.  
"No problem. But there is a lock you could have used." He said coldly.  
Sterling frowned. "Sorry, I forget things..."  
They made it there just in time, unlike two boys who ran, almost tripping over their own two feet. One of the was easily recognizable as the one that forgot to address him as 'Sir'. They were a minute late.  
"Keller, Jones," Sir snapped, hands behind his back as the boys stopped to catch their breath. "don't stop. Keep running. I want you to run past the field, all the way to the fence on the other side. If you stop I will know. You have exactly thirty minutes and if you aren't back you will clean the stalls until tomorrow morning!" The boys hurriedly began running again, almost falling as they started up again. Lewis snickered, an ugly smile on his face.  
"Boys, obstacle course. Now!" He blew the whistle and everyone ran to the start.

Katrina got home after a long night working as a tailor. Her fingers were pricked and covered with bandages, and they were sore as ever. Slamming the door shut, she trudged to the couch and fell over the arm, groaning from the sheer lack of energy she had. She wondered briefly how Cole had ever worked at the construction sites and came home with enough energy to stay up with her and talk for hours. She shut her eyes, pushing the memory of him away.  
It hurt too much.  
Thinking of him brought the idea that he might not come back to her head. That was too much. Katrina, exhausted and lonely, laid on the tattered couch and stared at the crumbling ceiling. "Come back... Please?" She whispered.

Weeks had passed, and a letter finally arrived. From him, written in the crowded and messy handwriting she loved to see. Her heart ached, realizing that this was the closest she'd been to him in about a month.  
It read,

_Katrina,_  
_Tomorrow I have to go to the actual battlefield part of war. Training sucked. Some kid basically adopted me as a role model. Not all too smart if you ask me. Anyway... After two years I get to come home. Isn't that great? Two years and it's over. God, I miss you. Everything about you. Even your annoyingly witty remarks. Two years and we'll be married... _  
_On another note, the kid (Sterling) has a mother near you. She sells fruit I think on the highway. Pretty obvious which one considering there's only one in use. If you could stop by and invite her to dinner one time, he'd appreciate it. Her husband and son are gone now so she's alone. I thought she could be some company to you... _  
_Yeah... Uh, that's about it. I'll stay out of trouble, promise. I'll come back to you. Two years. Mark the date. Love you. More than anything. Be good, okay?_

There was no goodbye. She liked that. Nothing that meant he even thought for a minute he wouldn't return to her. That was all she needed to see... hope. Katrina had been beginning to lose that hope she so desperately hoarded.  
That night she fell asleep clutching the letter, dreaming of him showing up at the door with arms open wide.


	4. Chapter 3

"Out in the real battlefield, there will be no time to think about a plan of action. You will have to choose one in seconds and carry it out perfectly." Sir yelled, stomping on the floor of the airplane. "In five minutes, we will descend. In seven minutes, you will collect your weaponry. In nine minutes, you will be out on the field with only each other. In ten minutes, some of you could be dead. Do you hear me?"  
"Sir yes, Sir." The boys and men called out. They were all standing in a row, not looking at each other. No one really had friends. Tension too high... no one could bare to lose anything -anyone- else.  
Sir nodded, clapping a hand on Keller's shoulder. "Watch out for Pipsqueak, eh?" He laughed, a booming laugh that was poorly placed. No on responded.  
"Bunch 'a humorless robots, you are." He grumbled, walking to the back of the plane.  
Sterling walked over to Cole as he sat down heavily, leaning his head against the wall and staring at the black, curved ceiling. "Tell me again about Katrina, please? I'll tell you about my mom."  
Cole sighed, glancing over at the boy. "Katrina... She had-has this great long blonde hair and these stormy grey eyes. She sings like an angel. She has a strong sense of justice and tends to be too open about her opinions." He smiled slightly, remembering the time he had to restrain her from yelling at a particularly racist woman of the government.  
Sterling smiled his half smile. "My mom has brown hair. It has a little grey in it but... she's still as beautiful as she was in her twenties... I saw a picture of her then... Blue eyes, like mine. She's really sweet but she's tired and works all the time... I hope her and Katrina get along." He nodded enthusiastically. Cole looked at his feet.  
"Deployment in forty-five seconds. Forty-four. Forty-three." The intercom rang out, a tinny impression of a young woman; emotionless and cold. The men and boys rose to their feet, slowly pulling on backpacks full of guns and such... The craft landed with a small jolt, and Jones grabbed Keller to keep from toppling over.  
"Are they... gay?" Sterling asked Cole as they waited for the hatch to open.  
"I don't know." Cole made a face, then shrugged. "Maybe. They seem to be together a lot."  
Sterling nodded slowly. "I think that's alright. Two guys. Two girls. Judging based on what they have... down under isn't exactly a good way to judge a person. If you love them, you should be with them."  
Cole looked at the teenage boy, so young yet he seemed to grasp what even the most 'mature' adults would never understand. "You would have been a poet or an non-corrupt politician years ago. Both incredibly rare both then and now." Cole mentioned. The hatch slowly opened, the buzzing sound of gears working filling the air. The light stung their eyes, forcing everyone to squint.  
"I always like poetry." He said, voice hardly over the buzz.  
"Three. Two... One." They all marched out, grabbing the last of their equipment by the opening.  
Twenty feet hit the sand of a place that used to be covered in grass, leaving the last safety they had.  
Once everyone was off, the hatch began to close. "Good luck boys... Today you're all men." Sir yelled as the craft lifted into the sky, flying away as the men watched.  
They were on their own.

Katrina sat with Emma Sterling, talking about their boys and sharing worries.  
"I hope Cole doesn't make too many... enemies. He has a temper and he... says things he shouldn't."  
Emma smiled, "I'm sure he'll be smart enough to not put himself into too much danger." She said, taking a sip of her soup. "Do you like it? The soup, I mean. I didn't have... hardly anything to make it. I'm not good at being a tailor. Not yet, anyway." Katrina sighed, stirring her's around. "It's wonderful, dear. Just like everything you cook. You would be a wonderful chef years ago."  
She smiled. "And you a Broadway star."  
Emma smiled down at her lap, hands withered beyond her years. "That was never a life I could kept. I turned old too young." She sighed.  
"You aren't old. You're just tired." Katrina corrected, voice soft and eyebrows drawn together. Her lips were curved into a small smile, a hopeful one. Katrina was the hope in their friendship. Emma was the practicality.  
"Nevertheless... there is no need for actors and chefs these days. Just soldiers and blind workers."  
"I want to change that. I want to... Rally the people. Get them to rebel against this stupid war. We could do it... If everyone was brave enough... For just one day. If all the soldiers just stopped fighting. Called a truce. Became friends." She said, leaning forward, brought to her feet with passion.  
"You know that would never work, Katrina. The people are scared, weak, tired. The soldiers can't exactly stop fighting and join hands and sing songs. It's a Utopia you're imagining... Ideas like that get good people killed." Emma chided, finishing off her soup and standing up.  
"I should set off. A set of trucks are rumored to come in tomorrow. A set of soldiers, drunk with the bliss of returning... They'll grab up the goods they can as quickly as they can. I'll make a fortune."  
"I know why you wait on that road all day long. You want your little boy to come back."  
Emma was silent as she stood by the door to the kitchen. The wallpaper near it was peeling, the drywall behind was crumbling. "Neither of our boys will come back. They never do." Her voice was deep, hallow.  
She believed it.  
Katrina had lost hope.


	5. Chapter 4

A/N: Mentions of... gory forms of torture in this chapter. Blood. Nothing TOO explicit. Just warning.

"Get down!" Someone yelled. Gunshots filled the air and the sand made it hard to see. Cole rubbed his eyes, irritated from the dust. He reloaded his gun quickly, taking a deep breath and moving from his barricade to shoot, shoot, shoot.  
People were screaming all around him. Blood mingled with sweat and sand. Sand everywhere.  
He crouched down again, narrowly avoiding the crossfire. Quickly, hands steady, he reloaded his gun again; stood up, aimed-  
There was nothing there. Nothing at all. He narrowed his eyes, trying to see through the clouds of smoke and sand that filled the air. "Get-" A cry rang in his ears.  
"Move and I'll kill you." Someone hissed from behind him. He felt the cold chill of a blade against his throat, the dig of a gun in his side. He was trapped, captured.  
"Hands behind your back."  
Slowly, not turning around, he put his hands behind his back. Rough rope knotted them together and he was turned, pushed the back of a covered truck. Someone coughed, and he looked up to see Sterling. He was safe... not safe, alive.  
Cole sat on the hard, rigged truck bed as the back was sealed up leaving them in darkness. "Move it, Rona." He heard, then a slap on the side of the compartment. The truck jolted and they were off.  
"Head-check." Sterling said, voice shaking.  
"Keller."  
"St. Clair." Cole said blandly.  
"Lewis."  
"Jones."  
"Sterling." Sterling added at the end.  
"We're going to be held hostage and tortured for answers we don't have." Lewis said dryly.  
"Then we tell them fake things, right?" Jones asked, voice nervous and squeaky.  
"Like that'll work. Chances are we die. Chances are they cut off our limbs one by one until we bleed to death in a dark room somewhere. Chances are they laugh." Lewis snapped.  
"Shut the fuck up, Lewis." Cole snapped.  
"Or what? We're fucked, St. Clair. There's no way out of this. You gonna break through the metal encasing this fucking truck? You're no superhero."  
"I hope they kill you first. Slowly. I hope they cut off your disgusting little-"  
"Lets figure out how to escape." Sterling cut him off. Probably for the best.  
"We could... um... beat them up?" Keller asked.  
"Yeah, easy." Lewis snapped back.  
Cole took a deep breath to keep from lunging at the direction that Lewis's voice came from.  
"We could try to overtake them when they open it. Maybe... Just jump out at them. Lets try to untie ourselves first." Sterling suggested. "Keller, you're close to me, right?" "Yeah..." "Turn so your back is near me." Sterling suggested. There was the sound of shuffling, muttered directions and... "That's it, that's my hand. Can you untie the knots?" Sterling asked. There was grunting, quiet curses and- "I can't... I just can't. They knotted it... weird. It would have to be cut off." "I'll try your's then..."  
This continued for a few long minutes. "No good. Jo-" The back opened, revealing a... woman.  
She stood there, dark hair in a ponytail. Her outfit was simple, a white tank with with tan bulletproof vest over it and pair of pants. She held a gun up. "I see you were trying to escape. We punish bad boys." She snapped. "Out, now."  
The soldiers, now captors, made it out of the truck. They stood in a line, each with different expressions. Cole was glaring at the girl. Keller and Jones exchanged glances with each other every other second. Lewis smirked, eyebrows raised. "Women, eh?" Sterling stared at them, trying to look brave.  
"Women, yes. Why is the weasel talking?" She snapped, running a fingernail across his cheek. He narrowed his eyes. "He'd be an interesting jester, would he not?" The girls behind her laughed.  
"Boring boys... But you..." She walked to Cole, smiling up at him in such as way that she seemed to be playing with him. A cat and her mouse.  
"Never do we get such handsome men. You probably think you could seduce any of us to do what you want, am I wrong?"  
"I have fiancee waiting for me back home. I don't want any of you." He said, voice dangerous and low. "How long have you been at war?"  
"By now? Year and half." He said. He wasn't even sure Katrina loved him anymore. Wasn't sure she was alive.  
"Doesn't it get lonely? Nights alone in the dark desert? No fiancee to sleep beside now." She ran her fingers down his arm and he, to his credit, didn't move.  
"I like this one. He's interesting. Mine." She turned away. "The others... do with as you wish. But get information somehow. We need to know the location of the base."

In moments, they were all brought into a military base complete with tents and even the occasional buildings that looked sturdy and new. The woman had a grip on his arm and steered him away from the others, to a building far at the back of the camp. She opened the thick metal door with her key card and pushed him inside.  
It was an office, but there was a twist on it. On the wall there were chains and handcuffs tethered to the brick.  
"Kinky." Cole said dryly.  
"Quite. However, you won't be in that situation tonight. Unfortunately." She sat him in a chair, effectively tying his arms to the back. It was a metal chair, welded into the ground. Made for interrogations.  
She wheeled one around in front of him, sitting with her legs draped around the head rest's support. "Where is America's military base?" She asked, voice thick with a Russian accent. "I'm not a high-ranking soldier. I'm indispensable. They don't tell us shit." He replied, green eyes boring into her sky blue ones.  
Her cat-like lips curled into a smile. "I don't believe you. The cargo you were traveling with? Bombs. Big ones. You were coming to blow something big up. Maybe the French?" She asked. "They don't put... cadets on a job that big."  
"You don't know America. They don't think much over there." He said without expression.  
The woman pulled out a knife, thin but long. She had had it on her hip, holstered and hidden. "How about we keep track of your lies?" She stood up, walked behind him.  
Slowly, making his heart pound, she dragged the knife against his upper arm. Deep, leaving a gash. He held his breath, not crying out. Blood dripped down from the mark in a steady stream.  
"One." She repeated this, moving next to the mark and drawing another long vertical one. "Two." She hissed into his ear.  
"Are you going to cooperate?" She asked.  
"I would if I could, babe." He spat.  
She added another mark.  
"Lets say five lies and then we'll move onto... something else?"  
"Sounds peachy." He snapped.  
"Where were you going with the bombs?"  
"Uganda."  
"Uganda is American territory now, don't think I don't know this." She added another cut.  
"Same question. Answer honestly."  
He clenched his teeth together from the pain. "Fucking Russia." He spat.  
"You-" She hissed, dragging a deep diagonal gash against the leftover ones.  
Cole shut his eyes tightly, grunting at the pain.  
"One more try. Truth... Or I'll take out your fucking eye."  
He stared at her, horror obvious from the look on his face.  
"War isn't fair, boy. Your fiancee'll never love you if you're maimed. If you ever get back to her."  
He spit in her face, "Bitch."  
She recoiled, yelling in outrage. She let her vest drop from her shoulders and used her tank to wipe her face.  
"I'll enjoy this."


End file.
